


Family Ties

by FHC_Lynn



Series: Contracted [1]
Category: Transformers - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Historical, Mech Preg, Oral Sex, Sticky Sexual Interfacing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-21
Updated: 2016-07-21
Packaged: 2018-07-25 22:10:48
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,459
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7549201
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FHC_Lynn/pseuds/FHC_Lynn
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When Knock Out decided to make friends with a lesser noble classmate in Vos as part of a career networking move, things did not actually turn out exactly as planned. Not that he’s complaining.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Family Ties

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Metalloprotease (Hazelnut79)](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=Metalloprotease+%28Hazelnut79%29).



> Requested by Metalloprotease, who wanted to see how Knock Out's courtship had gone. :D

* * *

“Excuse me? I am sorry to disturb you, but --”

Groaning, Knock Out cracked open one optic to glare at the ceiling of the bedroom. Sickness rolled up from his gut while pain stabbed downward from his head. Every joint creaked audibly, and none of his sensors held a steady reporting stream to his processor, both of which in turn fed into his headache.

If he felt this bad, it must have been one wild party.

Professor Pharma’s very first lecture played through his memory feed without his consent, reminding him of exactly _why_ he felt so bad. High grade lacked the viable stability of the heavier, nutrient-rich compounds found in regular grade and its permutations, so it was not broken down correctly in the processing tank. It did, however, last long enough to make it into a mech’s supply lines to burn hard and fast. It resulted in a chemical high many found pleasurable.

The rapid burn also damaged one’s internal systems, albeit mildly, from beginning to end. Burned by the caustic liquor resting in it before being dumped with little digestion into the system, empty tanks suffered small seizures. Actuators and pistons, natural lubricants dried out in the overheating, scraped raw as they moved. Gritty residue from the accelerated burn clotted supply lines. Nothing a day or two of rest and proper nutrition couldn’t fix.

He swore Pharma was a sadist to explain hangovers to brand new students, instead of just letting them quietly absorb the downloads on the subject. And now that Knock Out was thoroughly awake, he was painfully aware that his exhaust required immediate attention.

Lurching over his bunk’s frame, Knock Out fell rather than climbed down the steps, spilling himself down onto a tall, broad something. Knock Out moaned, shoved at the something until it put him down, and made a break for the hostel’s facilities.

“Whoa, whoa!” the something said. The words beat against his audials, and Knock Out’s tank flipped in place. “Hey, are you -- Hey, groundie!”

Knock Out continued his blind break for it. Intellectually, he knew nothing remained in his tank to purge, whatever it _felt_ like, but the need to take care of the ‘end result’ of his overnight binge still assaulted his overworked sensors. 

He ended up huddling in the shower afterward, and he promised himself that he would never, ever overindulge again.

“Are you okay, groundie?”

Knock Out lifted his head up, ignoring the cleanser dripping down his face to squint at the seeker looking down at him. The fellow had managed to cant his wings back; just enough to lean against the stall door Knock Out hadn’t closed behind him. The soft voice and studied inflections matched up with the voice of the something he had crashed into earlier. Knock Out cycled his optics and straightened. The painted markings on the fellow’s shoulders stood out now that he could focus. The Vosian diamond of nobility, with its sharp corners, shone in a glossy medium grey against the seeker’s dark navy plate. Within it, the narrow, upward chevron of a military house in the blue of fresh spilled energon seemed to swim. Knock Out cycled his optics again. Yes, he _did_ see three stars picked out below it in brighter silver.

This fellow smirking down at him was in the Inner Circle, one of the highest ranked Vosian nobles, and Knock Out had spittle and ash clinging at either end. Knock Out shuttered his optics, groaned, and buried his face in his hands. “ _Frag_.”

“I believe that sounds like a ‘no’. Can I call someone? Here, watch your audials. I am sure you would rather not have cleanser down the funnels, hmm?” The seeker bent to tug Knock Out along the floor, patted his shoulder awkwardly, and crouched down beside him. “There we go. Do you have a name? Are you staying here alone, groundie?”

“Knock Out,” he muttered into his hands.

“And it looks as if you have taken one, yes. But I gather you mean that for a name, hmm? I think I’ve heard your name before? Hmm. So, groundie, I’m Nacelle. You have friends here? Yes?” With his much longer reach, Nacelle got the shower nozzle out of its cradle and, to Knock Out’s eternal mortification, began to rinse him off. “So. You smell of some very strong spirits. I gather this is a terrible morning-after scenario, hmm?”

“Yeah. I was at a party,” Knock Out mumbled. “My family’s on the south end of Vos. I attend the Northlight Academy…”

“Ah, a science student?”

“Medical.”

“Then you should know better,” Nacelle chuckled. “Poor thing, though. And none of your friends could see to taking care of you this morning?”

“They probably drank more than I did.” Knock Out grimaced and unfolded enough to let the spray sluice down his front.

“Well, we shall see if we can clean you up. With the right breakfast in you, you will feel better the sooner.” Nacelle stood up, and he dragged Knock Out up to stand with him.

“Ugh. You can’t be here to help a grounder through a bad morning,” Knock Out muttered, but he allowed the seeker to manhandle him.

“I am here to visit a friend, but I did not see him in his bunk. He gave me the number below yours. Or where I found you.” Nacelle shrugged. His chuckle sounded bright to Knock Out’s binge-sensitive audials. “I think you know Hotlink? He has mentioned _you_ , Knock Out.”

“If yours is purple and red? Lesser noble? Likes exploding things in his spare time?”

“That would be him,” Nacelle laughed. ”Excellent. Do you know where he might be?”

“After kissing me senseless, he was licking jellies off another friend’s hips last I saw him.” Knock Out opened an optic to look up at Nacelle. “Bright blue fella from the Metagineering Department. Bitstream. Hotlink never mentioned you…?”

“Oh, I wonder why he didn’t?” Nacelle looked down thoughtfully. A faint smirk curled his lips after a moment. “So, he hosted your party...?”

“It wasn’t _my_ party. Link twirled in, giddy as you please, and dragged me out to celebrate _something_. I don’t know what. But he was aggressively friendly with me and Bitstream...” Knock Out looked up as Nacelle began to laugh, wistfully taking in the fine planes of his face. Seekers were such a lovely frame type, and this one more than most. With rank came privilege.

And better source construction codes.

“He did have something to celebrate, but I thought they would wait for me, at least.” Nacelle angled the nozzle down Knock Out’s backside. For a noble, the mech had gentle hands. “All right, Knock Out. Almost clean. Do you think they are at Bitstream’s hostel?”

“Probably. Think Bitstream’s is closer to the bar. What was Hotlink celebrating, by the way? He was _damn_ cheery last night.” Knock Out closed his optics and just leaned against the mech. He probably shouldn’t, but the seeker was being awfully patient. Maybe Knock Out could fix the terrible first impression? “And what’s a high flier like you doing helping burned out med students?”

“Well, you do clean up rather attractively, for a grounder. But you know that, don’t you? And my future trine partners decidedly enjoy your company…”

Knock Out jerked upright, nearly skidded in the suds on the floor and stared up at Nacelle.

“Careful! I will need you to help me find Bitstream’s hostel,” Nacelle laughed.

“Wow. I -- He didn’t mention -- I mean --”

“Well, the negotiation has been kept very quiet. My House Lord had some reservations about Bitstream.”

“They what?”

“Rank is a complicated thing, and to him, Bitstream didn’t have enough, but I was promised… Well. Knock Out, I think we’ve gotten you clean enough to be presentable. And I’ve been told this hostel offers breakfast?”

“Yeah.”

“Then you can have some before you show me where they probably are, hmm?”

“Hotlink told you about me?”

“Indeed. And I’m curious if you really are as flexible as he says…” Nacelle grinned down at him and offered a hand. “Come? Your optics are washed out, and you’re creaking. You need to eat something so you’ll feel better.”

Knock Out’s innards roiled at the prospect, but some of the soup the owner brewed would go a long way to soothing his burned tank. Knock Out accepted his hand. When the rest of Nacelle’s comment processed, he looked up, optics widening. “Uh…”

“Breakfast,” Nacelle repeated, patient as Primus. “Where is the dining room?”

Knock Out cycled his optics and felt proud of himself for not stumbling over the moisture bumper on the floor in the stall opening. “Uh… This way…”

Nacelle shut the stall behind them, squeezed his hand, and nudged Knock Out along in the right direction. “Perhaps you can tell me how much of Hotlink’s stories are true -- when you feel like a mech and not a burned hulk.”

“Well, waiting for _that_ could be a while,” Knock Out drawled, slowly collecting his wits. He smirked up at Nacelle, hoping he really didn’t still look like a drunken slob. His head pounded, but he had always cleaned up decently after benders before… Not usually with a flirt-worthy mech, but life was full of surprises. “I do so enjoy celebrations.”

Nacelle chuckled, “Now, now. Too much of a good thing…”

* * *

Outgoing and energetic, Hotlink had immediately hit it off with Knock Out. He was also enthusiastic and… Well, ‘aggressive’ sounded ugly, but Hotlink tended to have hands _everywhere_ once all parties involved agreed to ‘face, and he didn’t seem overly concerned with reciprocation. Hotlink had quickly introduced Knock Out to his oldest friend, Bitstream, with the tidbit that they liked to share. Proving shy, for a seeker, Bitstream had surprised Knock Out when he finally asked to ‘face without Hotlink present.

It was good to have seeker friends in Vos. And these two were actually sweet, and, as Hotlink had suggested, they certainly didn’t mind sharing his free time. Separately or together. Knock Out thought he had been dipped into the Well.

Knowing seekers loved to form threesomes of their own kind, Knock Out had known he would eventually lose the more intimate benefits of their friendship. It hadn’t hurt his pride _too_ much to make peace with the idea. Friends within the merchant class and the circle of lesser nobility in Vos were valuable for Knock Out’s future.

And then his friends had surprised him. Or, well, their suddenly appearing third partner had. Nacelle flew in a society circle as far above his friends as his friends did above Knock Out, to the Vosian elite. While the trio admitted to having had several clandestine meetings, the negotiations between their households had been very, very hushed.

Knock Out had thought that would be the end of the party. Certainly their intended trine-lead finding him sick from a drunken binge could not have been a worse introduction. Easygoing Nacelle’s reaction hadn’t been disgust, but gentle humor, and Knock Out had vented his relief.

Counting an _Inner Circle_ seeker as a friend could bless the rest of his life.

If he still wondered when they would stop inviting him, he didn’t let it worry him. They had their little seeker threesome, and while they certainly enjoyed each other’s company, they still invited him to play. Often these visits were for nothing more than a cuddle; seekers did so love to touch things, when they were on the ground.

The night he realized how bad their leaving would hurt him still hung vividly in his mind.

Kneeling on the floor in front of Nacelle, with Bitstream’s blunt fingers working inside him, Knock Out cursed their patience. When Bitstream removed the hand on his hip to slowly stroke up to the back of his neck and nudge him down, Knock Out went, moaning. Nacelle caught Knock Out by the finials and tugged down toward his spike. Knock Out bent to take it into his mouth, sucking. He braced his elbows on the couch’s firm cushions to wrap his hands around the base.

Bitstream removed his fingers from Knock Out’s valve, prompting groan at the emptiness. Using both hands, Bitstream lifted Knock Out off the floor by the hips and pulled the much smaller mech’s legs apart so could he guide Knock Out’s valve over his spike. He thrust in slowly, and Knock Out shook with ramping charge. Primus, but it felt good. Bitstream held Knock Out still, while Nacelle tugged on his finials gently, silently encouraging Knock Out to take him in deeper.

Settling his hands around the base of Nacelle’s spike, careful of his claws, Knock Out put his thumb pads on the ventral sensory ridge, , right where it rooted into the seeker’s body. Pressure there routed through the anterior node, whether Nacelle retracted the panel or not, and amplified the pleasure. Then he relaxed his throat and honored that polite request, inching further down Nacelle’s spike.

Bitstream waited until Knock Out had swallowed Nacelle down before reaching down to play with Knock Out’s node. Knock Out’s happy shout was muffled around Nacelle’s spike, and the seeker hissed in pleasure. Luckily for Knock Out, Nacelle _much_ preferred to be passive -- to let his partners of the evening dictate and control. Even now, the seeker whined when Knock Out pushed the pads of his thumbs into the ridge again. But he didn’t buck his hips or try to push Knock Out down.

Knock Out didn’t think Nacelle would last much longer like this, though. Nacelle had been nursing a low charge since they left the theatre box earlier that evening. Set in the ancient times of the Kaonite Empire, the borderline raunchy performance had left Nacelle feeling very frisky.

Too bad Hotlink had gotten stuck with a required field trip. He loved the aftereffects of Nacelle’s taste for trashy theatre.

Bitstream began to tease Knock Out’s node. He moved his fingers in soft, light circles that brought no relief but wound him up as tightly as Nacelle. And though Knock Out had gotten his shorter legs wedged between Bitstream’s where the seeker knelt behind him, Bitstream didn’t let Knock Out service himself on the spike in his valve. No, the rusted, glorified programmer had much more patience than all of them combined. He meant to tease them both.

Knock Out bobbed his head up and down Nacelle’s spike faster. Nacelle’s hands dropped to the couch to clutch at the cushions. Knock Out knew it wasn’t exactly fair to hurry Nacelle along, but he knew he could make it up to the mech later.

“Let him unload down your throat, Knocks. I wanna hear how hoarse you get after. Listen to you rasp as I frag you good,” Bitstream purred, tweaking Knock Out’s swollen node. Finally, finally it was just enough stimulation to send released charge juttering through Knock Out’s lines and circuits. Every cable in his body snapped taught, protective breakers tripped, and Knock Out struggled to deny his processor’s demands for a soft reboot.

Nacelle groaned above Knock Out, his hands flexing on the cushions. So polite, Nacelle. So patient. Bitstream freed a hand to catch hold of Knock Out’s head. Shy, quiet Bitstream was more the monster in bed than the affectionately handsy Hotlink or classically refined Nacelle. Strutless still with released charge, Knock Out moaned as Bitstream took over the action, moving Knock Out’s head over Nacelle’s spike, making him swallow it down again and again until Nacelle shouted, frame stiffening.

Bitstream released his hold on Knock Out’s head after Nacelle slumped forward. Knock Out lifted his head slowly, coughing with the remnant static charge and transfluid between his throat and Nacelle’s spike. Nacelle opened Knock Out’s loosened grip on his spike and pulled the long, red talons from his spike to set them on the couch to either side of him.

Behind Knock Out, Bitstream settled both hands on his hips to manhandle the small grounder into a slow, torturous rhythm. Knock Out groaned, vocalizer gone harsh with the static burnout from Nacelle’s overload, and dropped his head to the seated seeker’s thigh.

It was too much while he was so, so sensitive, and he didn’t want Bitstream to stop.

Nacelle released his hands to dip questing fingers into the grills of his pauldrons. Knock hissed, looking up at Nacelle’s smug grin. Maybe they were trying to kill him with pleasure, and if Primus were very, very kind, they would succeed.

Knock Out could feel Bitstream’s rising charge oscillating in time with his own, setting raw circuits to burning with every unhurried push. He didn’t know what nonsense curses he rasped against Nacelle’s wet thigh. He didn’t care. He knew Nacelle’s hands dipped further down his back to scrap last spot that drove him wild. He knew someone kissed the outer plating of his hover wells, and there were hands all over his front, too. One dipped into the bed of his left biolight. The last he knew, some kind spark closed a hand over his valve, fingers spread for Bitstream’s spike, and rubbed the smooth, thin plates of a wide palm over Knock Out’s node twice before the world exploded.

He came around bundled into a carbon mesh blanket in Nacelle’s lap. Bitstream stood by the holo display, and they argued quietly about what movie to put on. Tired and content, he rasped a sleepy complaint into Nacelle’s canopy. Knock Out freed a hand and just spread his fingers over the smooth surface. He could feel the pulse and warmth of Nacelle’s spark beneath it, and he closed his optics again.

Bitstream laughed, by the holo, then selected Knock Out’s favorite from their menu. He joined them on the couch, sliding into place at Knock Out’s back. Knock Out’s entire world felt comfortable and hazy, and he opened his optics to soak it all in.

Primus, he would miss them.

Not just the facing, but _them_. Waking up in their arms, debating the finer points of risqué theatre, or just feeling their warmth radiating through him. Waking up wrapped in blankets and held like something precious. Knock Out hadn’t meant to fall in love with them. Venting, he buried his face against Nacelle’s chest. The seeker’s arms tightened around him, and Knock Out decided to ignore tomorrow while he still had today.

* * *

The thing about Vosian society that immigrant ground frames tended to blow gaskets over wasn’t the terrible public roadway system. It wasn’t the claustrophobically narrow spaces at ground level. No, what torqued newly arrived ground frames off was the casual superiority. Even the poorest, most ragged seekers that had to live on the ground with them looked down at them.

Just like Knock Out did now.

Nacelle’s rented suite boasted a topside garden, complete with a landing pad on top of the covered patio and a transparent aluminum balcony, both shared with the whole floor. From here, the grounders all the way down there looked like ant-droids. Knock Out leaned back against the shoulder-height rail and looked at them through the glossy, expensively formulated metal under his pedes. He sipped at high grade with enough charge to burn going down the first time. He didn’t want to think about waking up hung-over from this drink, but he couldn’t deny just how _wonderful_ it felt to be in high places.

On Knock Out’s right, Hotlink contemplated the sparkle of the city lights through the crystal of his own drink. “So, you can stay the night, right? ‘Cause Nacelle said there was an oil bath with jets downstairs.”

“Really? I thought it would be too small for one,” Bitstream hummed thoughtfully, then reached up to trace Knock Out’s right finial. “You wanna play that game that wild Iaconi doctor taught you? About all the relays and cross connections?”

“Oh, Primus. I hadn’t thought of that visiting professor in ages,” Knock Out laughed. He looked up from the streets below his pedes and smirked up at Bitstream. “Or his hands. Mmm. We don’t _need_ oil for that, you know. He showed me that with a little medical jelly…”

“Wow. Kinky,” Bitstream smirked then pulled Knock Out into a loose hold that seemed all hands. “Now I want all the details, mech.”

“Watch the drink, Stream! Link, quit laughing!”

Hotlink grabbed Knock Out’s drink, but he didn’t stop laughing as Bitstream ‘mauled’ Knock Out for the details. Bitstream concentrated his ‘attacks’ on Knock Out’s hover wells and biolights. The latter flashed in time to his squeals of laughter. He swatted at Bitstream, but only lightly. He didn’t mind being tickled, and _these_ friends knew how to make it up to him.

[ Are we celebrating now? Tomorrow is only the rehearsal ceremony, my lovelies. ] Nacelle’s voice interrupted them over an open comm. The last home, Nacelle unfolded on his final approach to the landing strip and dropped with his thrusters on to cushion the shock. The landing strip took up the roof of the narrow central patio in the garden. Nacelle looked down at them from that height, and even at this distance, Knock Out could see his smirk.

[ You _could_ join us, ] Knock Out purred across the connection.

[ Yeah. Knock Out was gonna tell us more details about that visiting professor with the magic hands he banged last quarter, ] Bitstream added.

Chuckling, Nacelle crouched, then swung down over the ledge, repeating the trick with his thrusters, before sauntering toward them. “So,” he said when he got close enough, “you _are_ celebrating without me. For shame. I’ll be the only one sober for our binding. Tsk-tsk. You were supposed to wait for me.”

“Aww. We can still ask him,” Hotlink muttered. He held up Knock Out’s glass. “He’s not drunk.”

“Wait, ask me what?” Knock Out demanded, swatting Bitstream’s hands down. To his surprise, the mech pulled his hands away contritely. “Elle? Link? Stream? What’re you on about?”

“I told them not to have you baking by the time I got home,” Nacelle replied, shaking his head. “And here they are with you and a bottle.”

“It’s not like we haven’t fragged before…” Knock Out folded his arms and pouted at Nacelle.

“Oh, we have,” Nacelle murmured. He stroked a finger over the edge of Knock Out’s left pauldron, making Knock Out shiver. “But we decided to ask you something very important, and I wanted you sober.”

“I am sober. I’ve had two swallows,” Knock Out said warily. Then he unfolded his arms to stab Nacelle in the chest with a sharp finger. “Just because I was hung-over when we met, you keep teasing me, but I don’t always end up baked. And you know it!”

Nacelle bent down to kiss the vee of his helm, above his optics. He grinned at the face Knock Out made. “I know you don’t, but you know I like it when you’re ruffled. We wanted to ask you to stand in the south position tomorrow.”

Knock Out cycled his audials. Jaw dropping, he shrieked, “I am not your builder!”

Nacelle threw his hands up while Hotlink and Bitstream dissolved into laughter. “No, you don’t understand! The south position _usually_ goes to the builder of the lead partner. It can also be for the one the trine wants to be their hetaira. It’s not often a trine agrees on someone before their own bonding, Knocks. And we weren’t sure you’d accept.”

“Wait. You want me to… You want me to have _sparklings_? _Your_ sparklings?” Knock Out stared at Nacelle, then Hotlink and Bitstream in turn.

“Well, not tomorrow! Me and you still need to finish school,” Bitstream said.

“And I have an internship starting next century, and I’ll probably be traveling quite a lot. And we’ll have to have a place with a disaster-proof room for Hotlink; those are a bit out of our price range yet.” Nacelle added, raising his voice over Hotlink’s annoyed grumble. “You know I want to afford our home with our own finances. If you don’t want to stand there tomorrow, we’ll understand. We didn’t give you a whole lot of time...”

“Oh, come off it, Elle. He should have guessed by now. You’re too smart, Knocks,” Hotlink huffed. “We invite you everywhere. You were raised here. You know courting seekers don’t bring a grounder into the mix. Not without a good reason.”

“I… Okay, yeah… I still didn’t think you’d ask me!”

“But we have,” Bitstream said. Then he pulled Knock Out tight against him. “So you think about that tonight while you tell us all about the visiting prof’s medical jelly.”

Knock Out narrowed his optics at Bitstream. “You’re really going to ask to frag after that little bombshell? I already feel like a spare --”

“Knocks, stop! You wouldn’t be bonded to us, no... Hetaira aren’t… Look, they came from our military tradition, a long, long time ago. They carry the sparklings in case the trine falls. We don’t always survive each other,” Nacelle replied softly. “At first, hetaira were seekers, too. Unbonded, they would always survive to escape with any creations.”

“When did you start asking ground frames?” Knock Out carefully. “All the ones I know of are grounders like me.”

Hotlink coughed, and Bitstream looked away. Nacelle vented. “During the Unification Wars, Vos resisted. Half in ruins, and nearly wiped out… It was decided that seekers shouldn’t take on the building themselves. They… They enslaved captured ground frames.”

“Oh.”

“When Vos was defeated, the captured were returned to their cities,” Nacelle continued, shifting on his pedes uneasily. ”Many did not want the creations they had been forced to carry. If already parted, the creations were left in Vos to be raised. Many of these sparklings weren’t flighted, but… But it quickly became apparent that it was still in their source construction codes.”

“Did your people force their own children?” Knock Out shuddered.

“I’d like to say no…” Nacelle shook his head and glanced at his partners. “It _settled_ the way things are now. Many hetaira now are the children of seeker households, comfortably settled with their own trines. But I don’t think many modern seekers are very proud of that time.”

“I don’t remember this from my primary history classes…” Knock Out wasn’t surprised by that, although he wished he were. He remembered mostly that any lecture about the Unification Wars tended to focus on the terrible interstate relations Vos had lurched out of the war with. Now he guessed _that_ made more sense. He certainly would not care to be on good relations with a place that had done something like that to his people, if such happened _now_.

“Probably not,” Hotlink muttered. “No one likes to talk about it.”

“ _Iaconi_ nobles still mutter about it. But, well, they had more reason to remember,” Bitstream added, looking at his fingers.

“And you want me to join this proud tradition?” Knock Out asked, lacing the words with sarcasm.

Nacelle vented again. “It’s a complicated and messy history behind the position, just as anything with seekers and ground frames is complicated and messy. But if you agree, you would be part of our household, with many of the same protections a trine partner has. You’d have more protection than most ground mechs have in Vos, and certainly more status. It’s a contract position, you know. For all the ceremony, there is legal recourse if you ever think we’re going to hurt you.”

Knock Out flinched, because his thoughts had turned that ugly, for all that he loved them, but he nodded. He wanted more than the night to think about it, and, for a second, he debated scratching someone for waiting until the last minute to ask.

“I’ll… I’m going to need more time to think about it. I mean, I knew most seekers are jerks, however pretty, but…”

“That was the _past_. We’re in the present, Knocks. An’ we talked about our future, and we couldn’t picture not having you with us,” Hotlink spoke up. “You said you did want sparklings, once. And you said you just didn’t think you could stick with one mech, too. So how about three? Sure, you won’t be bonded to us, but you really want us all up your business all day?”

For the second time that night, Knock Out felt his jaw drop. Then he dissolved into tense laughter. “You know my builders aren’t from Vos. I don’t have that half-seeker source code.”

“We’ve met your family, Knocks,” Bitstream snickered. “We’re still a dominant construction type. That’s good odds at least one turns out able to legally inherit Nacelle’s titles. Good enough for us. But take all the time you need. And you don’t _have_ to tell me about the Iaconi doctor and the medical jelly tonight…”

“Good. Because I want to finish my glass -- Hotlink, give it back, please -- and take to my bed. Alone. To think.” Knock Out held out his hand for his glass. Pouting, Hotlink finally returned it. His friends let him toss it back and Bitstream put a hand under his elbow to keep him upright when he wobbled five steps later. Bitstream also helped him down to the guest bedroom and left him sprawled comfortably across the wide bed. _Without_ coping a feel.

Perhaps it was the gold digger in him, but Knock Out knew he would agree, eventually. Hotlink had it right. He wanted what they had to offer. His builders often grumbled about their seeker clientele. The superior attitude, the way the laws were skewed. But they had come to this city for business and hadn’t left again. They had raised Knock Out here, and even his older brother Breakdown had spent most of his life in Vos now.

The attitude _was_ there. Knock Out would have a tankful of it in high society. But Nacelle was in the Inner Circle. Even their hetaira would outrank the Outer Circles. Power, safety, and three gorgeous mechs. He didn’t really see a downside.

So while he would pay close attention to the south position’s duties in the ceremony, Knock Out wouldn’t agree _tomorrow_. He would have to teach them not to surprise him like that.

* * *

Hands folded over the distortion of his midsection, Knock Out sat in the nursery’s tiny corner alcove. Light streamed in from the floor to ceiling windows on all sides, and Knock Out still didn’t feel warm. His gaze lifted upward, but he saw no stars through the taller buildings’ luminescence. Light and buildings stretched to the horizon in every direction he looked. The flat his trine could afford to own hadn’t come with the pretty view of the rental.

An alarm pinged in the corner of his processor. Bitstream should be hitting the public landing upstairs in a few minutes. Venting, he pulled his gaze away from the bright city view and forced himself to stand up. Still image captures lined one wall. Family photos to watch over their future children at play.

Knock Out’s medical degree focused on flight frames in general, with a specialty in the seeker type. He applied that intimate knowledge every working day at his builders’ modification practice. And, now, with his family. He folded his hands over the barely parted plate seam crossing vertically over his build chamber,

Flight frames couldn’t fly until after the secondary growth of struts and plate hardened. This second spurt happened much faster than the slow, slow process of the first, but it did just as much work. In all young mechs, this phase meant that the specialized growth nanites worked inside their joints and along the surfaces of their delicate plates. They were miserable, itching creatures. It required the nanites to forge new material on to the old, and to strengthen and improve the protoform’s outer shell into real armor. Knock Out remembered his own adolescence as a slice of the Smelting Pits, much as anyone else did.

Importantly, though, flight frames _looked_ the same as grounder younglings until that life stage began to differentiate them. Wing plates, merely wide bits of kibble until then, sprouted rapidly into broad sheets. Thrusters carved themselves out of present pedal structures and fired up for the first time during this stage.

If the creation had the coding.

As the household hetaira, one of Knock Out’s functions in their little family was carrying and building their sparklings. Reaching the end of the wall, Knock Out glared at the images of his Consecration Ceremony. A crazy affair, trying to elicit Primus’ Blessing over Knock Out’s naughty bits so he would produce more seekers. Hotlink had spent three quarters of ceremony trying to smother his laughter after Knock Out promised to take that monk’s hand off if the old mech actually tried to touch anything.

And some _might_ suggest that threat had prompted a failure in that blessing. Knock Out rubbed his middle again, scowling at the happy images on the wall. Squaring his shoulders, he turned and stalked out of the nursery. Modern society saw it more as a binding ceremony than a blessing ceremony. It was something to mark the end of Knock Out’s courtship and the social beginning of their family in their optics. Not just a legally binding contract filed with the bureaucracy.

Well, he wasn’t the superstitious kind. Whatever the public might think about his first build being a ground frame, Knock Out didn’t care. Just his seekers mattered. And right now, he needed to greet this build’s primary donor. Bitstream would be eager for news about Knock Out’s appointment.

Knock Out had wanted a more experienced opinion for his first build than his own, but when he had made that appointment, he really had no doubts left about the results of his own scans. This newspark would never fly; he had not inherited any flight frame coding in his source construction. And source construction coding dictated the laws of Vos. Guilty as Knock Out felt, he tried to shove it away. He had warned them before. They couldn’t blame him because he had been right.

Bitstream burst from the lift before Knock Out got halfway down the short corridor. Venting hard and loud, Bitstream clutched at the wall. Still only halfway down the hall, Knock Out stopped to cycle his optics in surprise. Reserved and more prone to deflecting attention than attracting it, Bitstream’s display caught Knock Out off guard. The seeker spotted him and stumbled from the landing into the entertaining room, and past it, to catch Knock Out where he had frozen.

“Breakdown commed me. Said you’d talked to him all upset about the newspark’s coding. C’mere, Knocks. Don’t be upset. It’s not good for him, you know that. He’s perfect just because he is, and I’m just as happy --”

Knock Out reached up, grabbed Bitstream by his helm vents and yanked the seeker’s head down to cut him off with a kiss. Stupid seekers. And stupid Knock Out. He shouldn’t have worried.

* * *

“That is one ugly little scrap you made there, brother-mine,” Breakdown whispered beside him. “The first one was _much_ better looking, if I do say so myself.”

Knock Out elbowed him into silence. Young Trailbreaker, newly passed his third and final growth spurt, reset his vocalizer and looked around apologetically. Knock Out did have to admit his elder child had grown into a handsome mech, but the attending seeker nobility wouldn’t understand Breakdown’s teasing. Trailbreaker looked more like his uncle than his sire, after all. For that, the society seekers didn’t find Trailbreaker as acceptable as Starscream, so Knock Out didn’t think their opinion mattered. Knock Out did not allow himself to make a face as the mass of seekers eyed them suspiciously. They turned back quickly.

Bitstream, Nacelle, and Hotlink’s build households and what family could make it to little Starscream’s Naming filled the Temple. Still painfully shy, Bitstream stood on the raised dais, the Temple amphitheater’s focal point, and the rapid ticking of his wings broadcast his discomfort loud and clear. He did not pause just because his family wanted to glare at his hetaira’s brother.

Knock Out wondered if he would stop for a Primal Proclamation at this point.

Bitstream _hated_ being the center of attention, but the first seekerling built in their household required a full spectacle, and _he_ had been that seekerling’s primary donor. Knock Out glanced to Nacelle and Hotlink at the foot of the dais, looking up at their partner. Nacelle’s wings ticked, too, but out of sync. Just a beat slower. Bitstream’s optics kept finding the trine lead’s, and Knock Out grinned when he realized Bitstream’s nervous movement slowed every time Nacelle did.

And Nacelle’s slowed down a little more after. Ever the socially conscious mech, their Nacelle.

It got Bitstream to calm, little by little, through the recitation of Starscream’s House lineage and through the child’s restless fussing as the stuffy ceremony continued. Fortunately, Starscream had already proven to _love_ attention, and the second half of the ceremony where every present seeker came forward to present their small gifts to him went much better. Knock Out could hear him giggling from his seat on the altar.

When the succession of relatives ended, Hotlink and Nacelle joined Bitstream on the dais for the final rites. Once these stupid prayers were done, Knock Out could at least get close to his seekers and carry his one-week parted sparkling to their hired shuttle.

Breakdown swooped in and caught Starscream from Bitstream’s arms instead. The child shrieked, hands waving in joy, as his uncle ran off, child held over his head, and ran for the shuttle. Hotlink yelped and chased after them, but he was laughing so hard he nearly stumbled. Trailbreaker groaned and hid his face. Everyone turned to look again, glaring at Breakdown playing tag with Hotlink and the squealing infant, but Nacelle kept a firm, soothing grip on Bitstream’s left wing and held his free hand out to Trailbreaker.

Knock Out watched his family walk away together, ignoring the disapproving crowds. He dropped one hand to the still-tender seam down his abdomen. Growth nanites would keep Starscream’s protoform soft and pliable until he reached his final height. Until the second growth stage began, Starscream would be fragile, but Knock Out didn’t worry that Breakdown and Hotlink would drop his younger child. He thought about how happy they looked.

“Sir? I believe they’re leaving you behind…”

Knock Out looked up at a seeker with the red face of Primus painted on his shoulders and no rank marks. An acolyte, then. Knock Out grinned and shook his head. “They would never leave me behind. But I probably should rescue my newest child from his uncle. Primus knows what bad habits Breakdown will teach him.”

Life really was full of surprises.


End file.
